Mom is taking out the trash and organizing the cupboards.

Where's dad?

My sister has a tremendous cough that won't go away.

Where's dad?

I go out for a run in the cold. I don't have enough layers on.

Where's dad?

Kathy goes out to pick up groceries for dinner.

Where's dad?

Daisy, the dog, is waiting at the front door at 7PM.

Where's dad?

Chloe, the cat, is sitting at her dish waiting for her cluck a doodle do.

Where's dad?

Dads.

I don't know how it ends up being that they go from men to spouses to the silent film star in an action movie featuring all girls living in a bustling suburb of Manhattan.

I know that most dads’ end up being the quiet one, whether they have sons or daughters. They are the ones that answer the phone, exchange a few pleasantries then, 'put mom on the phone,' "Everything's good, good, I'll get mom."

My dad is like that in a sense. However, if you call home and he picks up the phone, even if you are busy with just a minute to talk, he will talk to you for 10 minutes without you getting a word in otherwise.

I've actually put the phone down, stirred soup, flossed my teeth, checked my e-mail and come back to the phone and he's still talking about the weather and driving and New York City.

My dad.

When he says he loves you, you never doubt it. Even if he disappears for hours or snaps at you for no reason.

My dad.

Didn't ask if I had enough clothes on when I went for a run in the bitter cold. Are you warm enough?

My dad.

Didn't ask if Karin needed medicine for her cough. Normally, he would go out and get every brand of cough and cold medicine whether you asked for it or not.

My dad.

Would never let the cupboards go bear or trash cans get full or cat dish get empty.

My dad.

Would always cause a stir with Daisy, every single time he would come back in from the outside, even if he were gone for 2 minutes to have a cigarette.

My mother.

When our family cat of 12 years, Barney, passed away, she learned that pets have a tendency to hide when they are ready to die.

My mother.

She sees my dad, hiding from us all, our conversations, our dinners, and our memories.

My family.

How do you do it?

How do you prepare?

When do you know?

What do you do?

My dad.

Slipping into a silence that doesn't even pick up the phone.

My dad.

Friends with the owner of every bodega on the east side of Manhattan.

My dad, who knows the name of every worker in the post office, dry cleaner and supermarket.

My dad, who has charmed every nurse, doctor, aid in every hospital and doctor's office in NYC.

My dad, who every night, even if he yells at the dog to get out of the way, Daisy follows him up stairs after he goes up to bed. My mom always asks, "Daisy, are you sure you wanna go upstairs? It's so much fun down here?" Daisy always turns to us then continues upstairs to be with his best friend. Unconditional love.

My dad, who is slowly slipping away. Into quiet.

I look at him.

I look inside him and try.

Try to see where he is.

I look at his face.

My face.

And I can't find him anywhere.